A Cresting Wave
by Calico Star
Summary: It hurt to breath. It was easier not to.


Her chest burned with every breath. The fire within caused her to want to cry out, crying meant she needed to take a breath and breathing only heightened the flames, so it was easier not to breathe.

Dark shapes flickered, merged and grew, blurring her sight and she knew, with almost clinical detachment, that this was not a good idea. 'The human organism can only survive without oxygen for several minutes' the obscure memory of a biology class and a dry professor informed her. And yet, she could only observe as light and sound became distant, as a sudden sharp prick preceded a creeping chemical numbness and she yielded to the darkness, let the pressing pain lift and float just out of reach.

Sensations pulled her back, voices and sights fuzzy as if refracted through water, slowly sharpening to a reality she knew she didn't want to face. Fighting to remain in the numbness only hastened her departure. With clarity came memory, images she never wanted to see again burned on her retina, replayed themselves over and over, and she inhaled in shock.

A white coat hovered nearby, relief at the ready, but she shook her head, squeezed her eyes tightly shut and curled her body into the cresting wave of searing agony. Riding through it as it crashed down and held her under for everlasting moments. Fighting for any sliver of control she could lay her hands on. Clawing her way back to the surface, breaking free and finding balance, precarious though it was. She could not, would not surrender.

Managing to raise her head, she found the familiar figure at her bedside. Carefully, she spoke, her voice hoarser than she realised.

"Could someone get Tory for me?"

She ignored his instinctive refusal and the complaints that followed her demand of "Now." even as he obeyed her command.

She strove desperately for a calm appearance. They need never know how tenuous her control really was, nor would anyone know how much this effort cost her.

Her aide slipped quietly through, eyes red rimmed, she suspected it was a combination of shock and lack of sleep and briefly wished she could do something to help. Right now though, every fibre of her being was involved in the effort to remain focussed and coherent, and not to give in to the screaming fury within.

"What is the latest situation?"

"Commander Adama has taken control of the fleet."

Her heart clenched at the thought.

"How ..., how is he doing?"

"He is obviously shaken, but he has been kept busy so far with the demands of the fleet."

"The press?"

"A statement has been issued and a press briefing has been scheduled for this afternoon."

"Good. I need a copy of all the reports and the statement, please arrange with Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh to come see me at their earliest convenience, and I need to see Doc Cottle and find out when I can get out of here."

Tory handed her a file, even as she started to protest.

"Madam President ..."

"You are staying here overnight for observation, young lady, and don't try to argue with me. You stopped breathing, that gets you a stay in my facilities."

"I have a press conference to attend this afternoon, as well as a hundred other things that need to be done. I do not have time to sit here."

"If it is absolutely necessary, and then only because of my better nature, you can be escorted to your little press conference, but only there, and straight back after. That is as far as I am prepared to go."

She glared at him, but seeing that he was not going to back down, decided to choose her battles. Ignoring him, she turned back to Tory.

"I will see the Commander and the Colonel here. The Vice President too, and we will need to arrange a meeting of the Quorum tomorrow."

"Yes Madam President." With that Tory bustled out, already mentally planning out the day.

"Now, young lady, let's take a look at you." The Doctor for the most part kept his eyes on the machines as he checked her over, giving her time to settle. Finally though, he gave her a long searching look, taking in her pallor, her knuckles white as she clutched the bedsheets, the only outward sign of her turmoil. Her voice had been remarkably controlled during her conversation with her aide and her face was serene. He wondered if Tory had noticed the lack of eye contact during her visit. Somehow he didn't think so. The President was a master politician after all, and good at misdirection. He placed a finger under her chin and turned her face towards him gently, waiting until she had to look up at him. When their eyes met, he almost wished they hadn't, almost because he knew she could show this to no other. He had to bite back a gasp as he was pulled into the maelstrom, grief, despair, anger, shock, loss and a flicker of hope that almost broke him, a desperate hope that he would tell her this had all been a terrible mistake. He was so caught up in her eyes he almost missed it when she murmured.

"What am I going to do, Jack?"

She looked away and he felt lost and freed all at once. He watched as she put together her barriers again, put a calm face on.

"First, you're going to let me give you something to get you through these meetings you insist on having, then you're going to sleep if I have to knock you out. Then, you will take things one step at a time, the way you always have. And Laura ..." he continued, his gruff voice softening, "I may not be very good at this, but my door is always open for you."

She gripped his hand tightly and nodded her thanks, unable to speak for a moment.

Commander Adama entered the curtained area, and she held out her arms to him.

"Lee, I am so sorry."

He stepped into her embrace and wrapped his arms around her, his jaw working as he desperately fought the tears that threatened. After a long moment, they separated and he sat down next to the bed. Holding her hand out to him, she said gently.

"Captain Apollo, I am once again in need of my advisor on the military. What is the protocol for the funeral of an Admiral?"


End file.
